The Savage

He gazed at her, his eyes still wary, distrustful, still wounded.

Summer took another step toward him, moving close enough to touch him. There seemed only one way to make him believe, one way to heal his hurt. Reaching up, she pressed her palm gently against his cheek and raised her lips to his.

He didn’t really kiss her. His mouth was cool and hard and angry, a conscious defense against more pain.

When he lifted his head, his gaze narrowed threateningly. “Don’t start something you’re not willing to finish, princess.”

She recognized the dangerous note in his warning, but still she ignored it. She knew Lance well enough now to know what would happen if she continued to press him, if she tested his control further. He would explode with fury, with passion—which was precisely what she wanted. She might be playing with dynamite, but just now he desperately needed proof of her willingness to honor their marriage vows. He needed evidence of her p

ledge of loyalty. And she would give it to him.

Determinedly she slid her fingers around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Lance.”

“Damn you…” The hoarse groan was barely audible.

As if against his will, he lowered his head again and took her mouth, this time savagely. Yet within that brutal kiss, there was pain, an aching vulnerability that touched her soul in a way nothing else ever had. Summer returned his kiss wildly, opening to him fully, to his thrusting tongue, to his hungry need.

She was startled when Lance abruptly broke off their embrace. Without a word he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him toward the rear of the barn, and Summer let out her breath in relief and triumph. She knew what would follow. When he pushed her inside a large box stall filled with clean, sweet-smelling straw, she went willingly.

Her heart was pounding as Lance shut the door behind them and turned to her. They would cause a scandal if they were caught coupling in public in broad daylight, where any one of the hired hands could discover them, but she didn’t care. Her body felt hot and tight and eager, and she wanted exactly what Lance wanted. To have this clamoring sexual hunger eased by his physical possession.

Summer gasped softly when he hauled her into his arms and kissed her hard, but she responded eagerly, her sharpened senses assailed with the hot, thrilling scent of him. She gasped again when, abruptly, unexpectedly, Lance pushed her backward across the width of the stall, until her back was pressed against the far wall. His hard body crowded her, intimidating her, and she had to grasp the soft chambray of his shirt to catch her balance.

“So you think you know what you’re doing?” he demanded mockingly, his eyes hard and bitter.

“Yes,” Summer answered, panting for breath.

“You’re gonna let me take you right here? Like some whore I paid to fuck?”

She winced at his crudity, but she didn’t back down. “Yes—I mean no—”

“I didn’t think so.” His drawl was harsh, cynical.

“What I mean is, not like a…a fancy woman. I’m your wife, Lance. And I’ll thank you to remember it when you make love to me. Now, hush up and kiss me.”

Reaching up, she tried to pull his head down, but he held himself back, his eyes sparking with fury. “You want me to act like a savage so you can hold it over me.”

“No…I don’t care if you act savage.”

“You wouldn’t want me to take you like this, standing against this wall.”

Her eyes widened fractionally in surprise at the realization that it could be done that way, but then she smiled at her ignorance. “Yes, I would. I wouldn’t care.”

His mouth curved in a sneer. “You don’t know what you want, princess.”

“I know I want you,” she murmured, half-shyly, half-defiantly.

His obsidian eyes, so threatening and angry, flared with predatory heat. “Yeah? Well, you’re going to have me.” A fiercely male intent was plainly written on his harsh features, yet Summer hesitated out of concern for him, not herself.

“Are you sure it won’t hurt your wounded ribs?”

“What’s wrong, princess? Losing your nerve?”

“No. Are you losing yours?”

Her challenge was like throwing oil on a fire. Those black, piercing eyes held hers as he slid his hand between their bodies. She could feel him unfastening the buttons of his pants, feel him shoving up her skirts and the bulky crinoline petticoat she wore, searching for the slit in her cambric drawers.

She sucked in her breath sharply when his probing fingers found the folds of her femininity, but she didn’t try to escape. Instead she opened her thighs to accommodate him and closed her eyes against the shameful excitement and delight of it, the anticipation of having Lance enter her body, become fully part of her. Her nipples were so tight, they ached, and within the deepest part of her an empty throb had begun to torment her.